


Law and Disorder

by baroque_mongoose



Category: Girl Genius
Genre: Gen, Mild Language, POV First Person, Sex Work, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-27
Updated: 2015-02-27
Packaged: 2018-03-15 13:06:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3448268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baroque_mongoose/pseuds/baroque_mongoose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the small town of Grauburg, in the Wulfenbach Empire, someone is killing sex workers, and the local police force has so far drawn a blank.  Gil sends Lord Heversham (formerly Ardsley Wooster) to Grauburg to see if he can use his old spy skills to clear up the mystery.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Law and Disorder

“Ummm,” said Gil. “Ardsley.”

I raised an eyebrow at him. “You're about to ask me to do something completely out of my remit, yes?”

He grinned ruefully. “Oh, you know me so well. Yes, I am. Of course, you don't have to, but... well, the thing is, I need a good detective, and I rather think your past experience of international espionage would make you very well suited to that.”

“I have often said in the past that I would have been a detective if I hadn't been a spy,” I replied. “Tell me more, Gil. Mind if I pour myself another cup of tea first?”

“By all means.”

I refilled my cup. “How about you? Shall I top you up?”

“No, thank you. I'm all right.”

“So,” I said. “Why do you need a detective?”

“Well... I'm sure you know about Jack the Ripper.”

“Of course,” I replied, a little puzzled.

“We have a copycat killer on our hands, of sorts,” Gil explained. “In Grauburg. I don't know if you know the place?”

“I do, as it happens,” I replied. “It's close to the border of Agatha's territory, maybe forty miles or so from Mechanicsburg. I went there once with Maxim and a band of Jägers. I'm not sure if I've ever told you that story.”

“I don't think you have. Remind me to ask you about it later. The immediate problem is, we have someone there killing prostitutes.”

“I'm not sure they'd like to be called that, Gil,” I said, mildly. “What do they call themselves? I'm fairly sure it's not that.”

“Oh. Well. I'm not sure, to be honest; I mean, these days, I don't... that is to say, well, in Paris they called themselves grisettes. Will that do for the moment?”

“It works,” I said. “Sorry to interrupt. It's just that what you call people is important, especially when there's someone out there killing them.”

“Point taken,” said Gil. “Anyway, as you know, I've been building up a police force, and they're stumped. I've got a district superintendent based in the town, and he's at as much of a loss as any of them. So if they can't stop the murders, I need someone who can.”

“I'll certainly do my best,” I replied. “I can't promise anything, of course; if our murderer is clever enough to elude the police, then they will pose quite a challenge. How many people have been killed so far?”

“Four,” said Gil. “And that's four too many.”

I nodded sombrely. “Agreed. I'll do what I can, Gil.”

I arrived in Grauburg the following morning with a letter from Gil, and went to introduce myself to the district superintendent, Heinrich Rappe. He was clearly not pleased to see me.

“No offence intended, my lord,” he said, “but why does the Baron send an Englishman?”

If he really intended no offence, he was clearly not trying very hard to avoid giving it. “Because I used to be a spy,” I replied, mildly. “Therefore, my skills are somewhat relevant. I trust I shall have your full co-operation, as the Baron requests.”

His moustache twitched a little. “The Baron is a spark,” he observed, “and therefore, clearly, a highly intelligent man. Nonetheless, I am not entirely sure that he understands the latest developments in forensic science.”

“Probably not, Herr Rappe,” I replied. “Nor do I. I am not here to take over the technical aspect of your work.”

“I should hope not, indeed,” he said. “So, what do you want from me, then?”

“I'd like to see what you have on the case so far, if I may,” I replied.

He frowned. “I suppose you think you're Sherlock Holmes,” he said, irritably. “Waltzes in, solves the case, writes it all up in a way that makes the police look stupid. Well, no, to be fair to him, he doesn't usually write it up himself. His friend Watson does it for him. Blasted sycophant.”

“If you don't mind,” I said, “I know John Watson quite well. He admires Holmes greatly, but I think it unfair to call him a sycophant.”

“Oh, you do, do you? I might have known,” said Rappe. “Well, you just listen to me, my lord. This is a new police force, and I have been doing one hell of a lot of work to build it up in this area and gain the respect and trust of the local people. I am not having some complete outsider who's not in the Force, and an Englishman at that, coming in here and making my boys and girls look like idiots. You make damn sure you give credit where it's due.”

“Ah,” I said. “Now I understand. Let me assure you, Herr Rappe, that I'm here to help you solve the case, not to steal your thunder. I won't be taking any credit at all; it's not my regular job, and therefore I don't need it, whereas Holmes, of course, has to keep up his reputation. Not that I agree that he should do it at the expense of the police force, of course. But I'm not in the same position as he is, and therefore not acting under the same constraints.”

Rappe looked at me, still clearly suspicious, but apparently somewhat mollified. “Oh. Well, that's very decent of you, my lord.”

“Not at all. I'm concerned about stopping the murders, not establishing myself as Lord Heversham, Great Detective.” I smiled. “So, do you think we might manage a reasonable level of mutual understanding? It would make working together somewhat easier.”

“H'mm,” he said. “Well, I'll say this. Your German's outstanding. Wouldn't even know you were English if it weren't for your name and the Baron's letter.”

“Thank you,” I replied. “Could we, perhaps, start by looking at where the murders were committed?”

“Come through here,” he said.

He led me through to a large and somewhat untidy room with a map of the town and surrounding area pinned to the wall. It was adorned with glass-headed pins in various colours. “Those are all the cases we currently have open,” he explained. “The red pins represent murder enquiries.”

There were four of them, all fairly close together. “You're clear that they were all killed by the same person?” I asked. “Forgive the naivety of the question; I am trying to get as good a grip I can on the basic facts of the case.”

“It's pretty obvious, my lord. All whores. All...”

I coughed. “Do we really need to call them that, Herr Rappe?”

“Why the hell not? It's what they are,” he replied, truculently. “I was going to say, all garotted, and in roughly the same area. I expect you won't be surprised to hear it's the local red light district.”

“Garotted,” I repeated. “With what?”

“Hard to say. Probably something like a scarf or a cravat. The murderer doesn't leave it lying around conveniently at the scene of the crime, if that's what you're thinking, my lord.”

I nodded. “So, something that doesn't break the skin, then.”

“Quite so,” said Rappe. “If our murderer would just use something like a wire, there'd be blood, and with a little luck it might end up on his clothes or boots. But no.”

“And do the victims have anything in common other than their profession?” I asked. “Is there any reason you can think of why these four should have been killed, rather than any others?”

Rappe shook his head. “Not that we know of. They all knew one another, by sight if not always by name; but then you'd expect that. It's not a huge town, after all.”

“Yes, I'd be rather surprised if they didn't,” I replied. “Might I look at the case notes?”

“I should warn you, they're rather long,” said Rappe. “You'll need a bit of time. Perhaps you'd care for a cup of coffee?”

“Thank you,” I replied. “Yes, I'd appreciate that.” His tone was still hardly warm or friendly, but he was at least being polite now, and I was happy to encourage that.

“I'll send someone in with it. Biscuit?”

“If you have a water biscuit, or anything else savoury of that kind, I wouldn't say no,” I replied. “I'm diabetic, so no sugar for me, unfortunately.”

“I'll see what we have. Wait there, and I'll get you the notes.”

I took a seat at the rough deal table. There were various police officers going about their business, entering and leaving the room and occasionally giving me curious looks. I smiled and greeted them, and most of them smiled back; either they had no idea who I was, or they were not as worried as their superintendent about any Sherlock Holmes act I might be planning to pull off.

After a few minutes, Rappe came back bearing a manilla folder, which he set down on the table in front of me. “That should keep you quiet for a while, my lord,” he said, with a thin smile. “I've arranged for your coffee, and it will be along shortly.”

“Thank you very much, Herr Rappe,” I replied, smiling back much more warmly. “And when I've finished with these, where do I find you to return them?”

“Out of here, turn left, and my office is right at the bottom of the corridor.”

“Excellent. Oh, I wonder if I could have a notepad, please?”

Rappe beckoned the nearest officer. “Neumann, get Lord Heversham a notepad.”

“Yes, sir.” The officer hurried out.

Neumann returned with the notepad just as the coffee arrived, and I spent the next couple of hours going very carefully through the case notes and jotting down my own observations. There was a curious pattern; all the murders had taken place within a few minutes of 9 pm on different days. I wondered what the significance of that was. It had to have some, since the times were far too close together to be a coincidence.

I took the folder back to Rappe's office. “Thank you,” I said. “Now I think I have a reasonable grounding in the case. I see you don't have any suspects yet; but that's not intended as a criticism. I do realise people won't necessarily want to admit to having been in the red light district, even if they are not murderers.”

“Yes, that does make things difficult, my lord,” he conceded. “As you've read, we've talked to a few people, but they haven't been able to help much. It's almost a pity all the street lighting is electric these days. If this had happened even ten years ago, there'd have been a lamplighter we could talk to.”

“Well,” I said, “tonight I am going to go out and talk to some of the ladies myself, and see what ideas they have on the subject.”

He looked at me oddly. “Ladies, eh? I'm not sure why you're bothering, my lord. If they knew who the killer was, they'd stay out of his way.”

“Of course,” I replied. “But, nonetheless, they are the most likely people to have leads we can follow up. They are the ones who know the area best, and they are the ones who are being murdered. Therefore, I think it's extremely important to listen to them.”

Rappe shrugged. “Well, you're not under my authority, my lord. You do as you like.”

“Oh, I shall,” I assured him. “Now, this may seem like a strange question, but how will I recognise them?”

He stared at me. “What?!”

“I don't want to approach a lady who does not belong to that profession under the mistaken idea that she does,” I explained. “She could very easily be offended.”

“Well, of course, but... for the love of God, do you not know what a whore looks like?”

“I wish you'd stop calling them whores, Herr Rappe,” I said. “And I imagine that they look very much like any other women. After all, they will probably want to be able to say they are something else if there is any trouble. So, what do they do to distinguish themselves when they wish to do so?”

He rolled his eyes. “Go into the red light district tonight. Look for a group of women standing around talking. If you're in any doubt at all, wait for them to ask you if you're looking for a good time, or something of that nature.”

I smiled. “Thank you, Herr Rappe. I shall do that.”

“How old are you, by the way, Lord Heversham?” he asked.

“Fifty-four,” I replied, startled. “Why?”

“You are fifty-four years old and you don't know how to find a whore on the street?”

“I've never looked for one before,” I replied. “And will you _please_ find some other word to describe them?”

He laughed shortly. “Well,” he said. “Good luck tonight, you hopeless British innocent.”

The red light district of Grauburg formed a rough triangle, demarcated by two major roads and the river. At the intersection of the two roads stood the Excelsior Hotel, said to be the best hotel in the town; and after lunch I went there to book a room. To my surprise, I found that it was the same hotel where, many years ago, I had returned the errant Lady Olympia Datchett to the care of her aunt with the help of Maxim and a band of Jägers. The name, and presumably the management, had changed in the meantime; but it was unquestionably the same place, with its spacious lobby leading to a sweeping spiral staircase.

It was about half past eight when I went walking out into the red light district to see who I could find to talk to, and no more than ten minutes after that when I found, as Rappe had said, a group of women standing on a street corner, chatting. There were three of them, two in their early twenties and the third a lot older, possibly forty or so. I approached them rather hesitantly.

“Evening, sir,” said one of the younger women, cheerfully. “Want a good time, do you?”

I doffed my hat politely. “As a matter of fact, I should like a good talk, if that is all right with you ladies,” I replied. “My name is Lord Heversham. I've been sent by the Baron to help the local police investigate the murders. I will, of course, compensate you for your time.”

The young woman's eyes widened. “Bloody hell. You're a real lord?”

“A real English lord, at that?” asked the older woman, with a distinct purr in her voice.

“Ah. Yes. An earl, if it matters,” I replied, somewhat embarrassed. “Would you three ladies care to introduce yourselves?”

The first woman who had spoken laughed. “We don't normally get called ladies,” she said. “I'm Willi. It's short for Wilhelmina. This is Svetlana.” She indicated the other younger woman. “She's Russian. She doesn't speak good German.”

“I can speak Russian,” I assured her, and greeted Svetlana in that language. Svetlana, who had until this point been looking rather subdued, perked up at once and returned the greeting warmly.

“And I'm Gretl,” added the older woman.

“Charmed,” I said. “Now, before I start asking questions, would you mind telling me what you like to be called as a group? I'm afraid people refer to you by some rather, ah, pejorative terms, and so I'd rather know what you actually call yourselves.”

“Coo,” said Willi, clearly impressed. “Nobody's ever asked us that before.”

“We call ourselves street workers,” said Gretl. “But it's not the same in every town. And not all women who get called whores are street workers. Some of us are club girls. That's what I used to do, before I got thrown out for being too old. Or there are the really posh ones, the ones who stay at home and sit in the window or put a little card in a slot on their front door. They're called belles.” She sighed. “I always wanted to do that, but you need your own apartment.”

I nodded. “Thank you for that. Is it just the street workers who are being killed?”

“That's right,” said Willi. “But then, we've got less protection than the others have. The club girls generally get looked after by the bouncers, and the belles have nearly always got someone around like a boyfriend, or if they haven't got a boyfriend they can afford to hire some help. Hell, most of them have got maids. We really are talking posh here.”

“But we look after one another,” said Gretl.

I was interpreting for Svetlana, who nodded. “Yes, we do,” she said, firmly. “I didn't really want this job at all. I'm only doing it because my German isn't good enough to get a different job. But we are all good comrades here.”

“Svetlana's not typical,” said Willi. “I mean, if you're doing this job and you don't want to, it must stink, but most of us are doing it because we want to. I make a damn sight more money doing this than I could waiting at tables or stuff like that.”

“I understand,” I said. “Now, could you tell me a little about your clients? Are they mostly local, or do you get a lot of people from the hotel?”

Willi grinned. “Mostly local, but if we get someone from the hotel it's a lucky night,” she replied. “We charge them more. If they can afford to stay at the Excelsior, they've got money.”

I smiled back. “Entirely understandable. And the local ones, do they tend to be quite regular? You know most of them?”

“That's right,” said Gretl.

“Yeah, and if they don't treat us right, we don't take their business,” added Willi. “Those men, we call them wolves. I think it's a wolf doing these murders.”

“Yes,” Svetlana agreed. “There are some men who think that just because they are paying you, they can treat you as badly as they like, and we say, no. You pay your barber, or your dentist, and you treat them with respect. So, you treat us with respect, too.”

“I mean, a lot of us will do a bit of rough stuff if it's all agreed in advance,” said Willi, “but that's different. I offer strict discipline as an option, for instance. But there's limits, and they've got to pay extra for it.”

“Yes,” said Gretl. “It's the agreement that matters. Once they start doing things to you that aren't agreed, and they carry on even when you tell them to stop, they're a wolf. And that means all the girls get to hear about them.”

“Just the street workers, or everyone?” I asked.

“Everyone,” replied Willi. “The club girls take care of the street workers because they know that when they get too old, they're going to be back on the streets themselves like Gretl here, unless they're very lucky. And the belles... well, most of them started on the streets. There's very few that didn't, and they keep in with the others.”

“It seems you have a very good informal trade union going here,” I said.

“Yeah,” said Willi. “We have to. You can get really hurt doing this job otherwise. I mean, don't get me wrong. Most of my clients are really sweet. But there's always the odd few that want to cause trouble.”

“It's much worse when you don't speak the language well,” said Svetlana. “There are a lot of men who try to take advantage of that.”

Willi put a protective arm round her. “Yes, there are, and when I find out about that, they live to regret it,” she said.

“I'm learning,” said Svetlana brightly. “I know how to tell them to get wound in German.” She did not actually say “get wound”, but it will do.

“I can see how that would be useful,” I replied. “Do you suspect any particular person, or just some unknown wolf with a grudge?”

Gretl shook her head. “It could be anyone. We haven't seen anyone, and it's not as if the four girls who were killed were all with any one man on the night they died.”

“Well, anyway, we don't think they were,” Willi added conscientiously. “We don't always know exactly who's with who. But if there was anyone we'd known about, we'd have told the police.”

“Not that they are very helpful or friendly,” said Svetlana. “Not like you are.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“Svetlana's right,” said Willi. “You're actually listening to us. We don't get that from the police. Not really.”

“The thing is,” said Gretl, “technically we're legal, but the police don't like us much. They get us on minor infractions.”

Willi nodded. “That's right. There's no law against us running our businesses, but we're not actually supposed to solicit for custom, because that comes under being a public nuisance.”

I raised an eyebrow. “I note that that piece of legislation apparently does not apply to itinerant shoe-shine children. Not that I would want to bar them from touting for business, but the parallel does strike me rather forcibly.”

“You know what?” said Willi. “I really like you. But, yeah, if we're considered to be soliciting we get picked up. Bloody nuisance. You lose your income if you've got to spend the night in a cell, and the bastards know that.”

“But they're the only chance we've got of stopping the murders,” said Gretl, “or they were till you came along. It was really sweet of the Baron to send you. I didn't know he cared about us.”

Willi grinned. “I hear he had a bit of a wild past. Maybe it's nostalgia catching up with him.”

“The Baron doesn't like to see any of his subjects being murdered,” I replied.

“Do you know him very well?” asked Svetlana, curiously.

“Indeed I do, Svetlana. He's my best friend.”

“Well, tell him he can have a free one any time he comes here,” said Willi. “That goes for you too, if you like.”

I coughed. “Um... it's very kind of you to offer, Willi, but I'm a happily married man. As for the Baron, I shall certainly let him know, but I don't think he will be interested either, not these days.”

Willi laughed. “Most of our clients are married. They come to us for a little change.”

“I, ah, don't need a little change,” I replied. “But thank you, anyway.”

Further conversation made it clear that there were only half a dozen known “wolves” in Grauburg. Just as information made its way quickly round the street workers, so it apparently did with their clients; the men knew, on the whole, that bad behaviour was a quick way to make sure you would no longer be on anyone's list of clients, not just the woman you had mistreated. I went away with a list of names, very well aware of the fact that I was privileged to get it. Normally, they did not give away that kind of information to anyone outside their own circle. But I was trying to stop any more of them from being killed, and it was already clear that they trusted me a great deal more than the police.

The other thing I learned from talking to the ladies was that they had not been aware of the times of the murders. Evidently this was something the police had simply not bothered to tell them. It was, however, very relevant information, and I had no doubt that it would go round like wildfire that night. They would be taking extra care on the streets around nine o'clock from this point on.

The following morning, I went to the electoral registration office with my letter from Gil to find the addresses of the six men, and, having done that, I went round to talk to all of them. Three of them I was able to discount straight away after talking to their wives and finding that they could be accounted for on the night of at least one of the murders. (I did not, of course, tell their wives that the men were under any suspicion themselves; merely that they were said to have been passing through the area and might have seen something relevant.) Of the remaining three, one was unmarried, and I therefore had to do a little further detective work to find out where he worked. The wife of another gave me directions to his workplace, and the third was currently out of work, so I was able to talk to him on the spot. His name was Farber.

Farber sent his wife out of the room so that we could talk, and she scurried off. She was clearly frightened of him, which is never something that bodes well. He was surly, defensive, and at first very unwilling to answer my questions. Finally, I lost some of my patience.

“Herr Farber,” I said, “you must be quite aware by now that you are under suspicion of murder. Obviously you're not under any obligation to say anything. You are considered innocent under the law until proven guilty. However, if you don't want it to come to a trial, you would do yourself a favour by being more co-operative.”

“I've done nothing,” he snarled.

“Very well, then. What were you doing on the nights the murders were committed?”

“I was in the pub, like I said.”

“All four nights?”

“Yes. I go there every night.”

“Good. Which pub, and do you have friends there who could vouch for you?”

“The Swan.” He looked around uneasily. “You quite sure you're not the police?”

“I'm British. Does that answer your question?”

“Yes, but you're the Baron's man...”

“Not exactly,” I replied. “I'm the British Ambassador. But I am the Baron's friend, and I'm doing this as a favour to him. Now, listen, Herr Farber. What else you've been doing in the Swan is a matter for your own conscience. I won't report you to the police unless you turn out to be our murderer. Understand?”

“Word of honour?”

“Yes. Now, what is it? Gambling?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Been losing badly lately, too. Don't you dare tell the wife.”

I sighed. “I'm sure she'll find out eventually without my assistance, Herr Farber. Thank you. I'll check up on that, and if it tallies I shan't be bothering you again, unless I need you as a witness.”

“You won't need me for that. I don't know anything,” he replied. “I was pissed off when they blacklisted me, but not so pissed off that I'd go round killing them. Or covering for someone who did. I'll grant you, I can get nasty when I've had a few, and that was what got me in trouble with the girls. But I'm not a killer. I promise you that.”

“I hope you're not,” I said.

The unmarried man was Herr Albers, a lawyer. I went to see him in his office, where he welcomed me cordially and offered me a cup of coffee. “Yes, of course, my lord,” he said, smoothly. “I'm happy to help you as much as I can. These murders are very tragic.”

“The street workers believe they may have been committed by someone with a grudge,” I replied. “I'm aware that you are, ah, not in their good books.”

Albers eyed me narrowly. “A misunderstanding, my lord,” he said.

I somehow doubted it. I am generally willing to think the best of people, but I doubted very much that my new street worker friends would turn away custom on the basis of a simple misunderstanding. However, I replied, “Nonetheless, it does mean I have to ask you a few questions.”

“Ah, yes, of course. I quite understand that,” replied Albers. “Unfortunately, since I live alone, I am not able to prove that I was not in the area when the murders were committed. However, in law, as I'm sure you're aware, I don't have to. The onus would be on the prosecution to prove that I was.”

“I'm very well aware of that, Herr Albers,” I assured him. “If you are innocent, I should prefer it not to come to a trial. I'd far rather the guilty person was found and tried first time.”

“So would we all, I'm sure,” he said, with a rather over-unctuous smile. I found myself disliking him a great deal more than Herr Farber, whom I had not, in all conscience, particularly liked. If there was more than one trial in this case, then, provided he was not actually the defendant, I expected he would do quite well out of it.

“So,” I said. “You don't have anyone at all who can vouch for you on any of those four nights?”

“I'm afraid not, my lord. The fact that I was at home reading, as I do most evenings, is true but hardly a watertight alibi.”

I nodded. “Indeed. However, we may be able to eliminate you from suspicion by other means. If you were out on any of those nights, someone will have seen you. I can have the police circulate a description of you, naturally without your name attached, and enquire if anyone has seen you in the area. Would you be willing to take part in an identity parade, if it proves necessary?”

“Certainly,” replied the lawyer, comfortably.

“Good. Thank you for your co-operation, Herr Albers.”

I asked him a few more questions, but did not get very far with him; either he was as totally blameless as he maintained, or he was extremely clever. Or, of course, quite possibly both. The third man on my list was Herr Wagner, who worked in the local bicycle factory. I found him expertly assembling a set of derailleur gears when I arrived.

“Herr Wagner?” I asked.

He looked up. “Yes?”

“I'm Lord Heversham. The Baron has sent me to help the police to solve the recent string of murder cases. Could I talk to you for a few minutes, please?”

He looked round nervously. “If it's all right with the foreman,” he said.

“I've already checked,” I replied, reassuringly. “It's fine.”

“Good.” He straightened up and wiped his brow with a somewhat oily handkerchief. “Er. Sorry there isn't really anywhere to sit.”

“That's not a problem,” I said.

“Why did you, er, want to talk to me in particular?” he asked.

“The street workers think the person who is killing them may have a grudge,” I explained, “and I understand that you've been, shall we say, barred by them.”

His face creased into an expression of misery. “Oh, God,” he said. “Yes, I'm afraid so. See, what happened is I read this book about... er...” He looked up at me out of worried brown eyes. “You're British, aren't you?”

“Yes, I am,” I replied, a little surprised.

“Er, well, then, let's just say I read this book and thought I'd go and put some of the ideas in it into practice,” said Wagner, sheepishly. “What I really wanted to do was surprise my wife, but I thought I'd do what you might call a trial run beforehand. Well, the book said a lot of women really like that sort of thing.”

I suddenly recalled the mysterious remark Willi had made about “strict discipline”. I was learning a lot during this investigation; perhaps a little more, in fact, than I really needed to know. “I think I see,” I said. “Tell me, was this book intended to be... ah... a manual, or was it a work of fiction?”

“It was a novel,” Wagner admitted. “That was why I thought I'd better do the trial run first. I didn't know I'd get into _quite_ that much trouble for it, though.”

“Well,” I said, “if I may be permitted a word of advice, I suggest that you don't do anything with any woman in future without first explaining what it is you want to do and making certain she consents to it. That applies whether or not you're paying her.”

Wagner sighed. “I'd sort of worked that out, my lord. But you're right.”

I asked him the usual set of questions, during which I discovered that he, too, was in the habit of frequenting the Swan, and could incidentally vouch for Farber; they did not know each other very well, but they regularly saw each other in there. That was helpful, although I was still determined to cross-check, just to eliminate any possibility that the two of them had been acting in tandem. I doubted it, but one has to be thorough.

I therefore went to the Swan for lunch, and a few casual enquiries confirmed that both Farber and Wagner had been telling the truth. They were both regulars in there, and nobody could recall either of them being missing on any of the nights when the murders were committed. That, then, just left Albers; but, no matter how uncongenial I found him, I found it difficult to believe that he was a murderer.

But then, I reflected, it always is hard to believe someone is a murderer, until you have proof.

Proof was the thing I really needed, one way or the other. At the moment, all I had was suspicion. I finished my lunch and walked back towards the Excelsior to think. Nine o'clock, I thought. What on earth was the significance of nine o'clock?

The Excelsior, being the Excelsior, had a telephone. I used it to ring Gil and bring him up to date on events. Gil had a wireless arrangement rigged up so that he could talk on the telephone from Castle Wulfenbach via a land-based line; it tended to crackle, but it was good enough for us to make ourselves understood.

“I'm not surprised Rappe's not too pleased,” said Gil. “He's going to see it as a reflection on him. And, yes, I do see where he's coming from. He's done a great deal of hard work as he says, and this is going to feel like a slap in the face. I don't see what else I could have done, though.”

“More police officers?” I suggested.

I could hear him sigh. “I don't have them. Well, not enough of them, anyway. I'm still growing the police force. It's only in the last twenty years or so that things have been stable enough to have a police force in the first place.”

“Granted,” I agreed. “Well, it's unfortunate about Rappe, but he is co-operating. Not very willingly, but still.”

“Good,” said Gil. “He'd have me to deal with if he didn't. Now, you say you've got a suspect?”

“Yes. A lawyer called Albers. I went through the list of names of clients who had been barred by the street workers for bad behaviour. That's the kind of thing that might create a grudge.”

“You got that information out of them?” asked Gil. “I see you haven't lost your touch.”

“All I did was listen to them and make it clear I wanted to help them,” I replied. “Oh, er... by the way... I did promise to tell you, after all... ah... they appreciate you sending me, and you have, shall we say, a free offer if you should ever visit.”

Gil laughed. “Nice of them. I won't be taking them up on it, but it was worth hearing you explaining it over the telephone. Give them my thanks and regards.”

“I will,” I promised. “Anyway, everyone else has an alibi that checks. Albers hasn't. I'm going to ask Rappe to put out a description and see if anyone's seen him. If nobody comes forward, we're not much further than we were before; but at least we'll have eliminated that motive.”

“And the police haven't thought to do what you've been doing?” asked Gil. “Actually talk to the girls?”

“Not to any great extent, it seems,” I replied. “There's a bit of bad blood.”

“I suppose there would be,” said Gil. “But that does rather justify my decision to send you in.”

“I hope so,” I said.

I sat in the main lounge for a little while, going through my notes again, then walked back down to the police station and explained to Rappe what I wanted him to do. He seemed to have had some second thoughts, because he was quite happy to do what I asked.

“Certainly, my lord,” he said. “I'm sorry I was a little snappy with you yesterday. I was in a bad mood for some reasons quite unconnected with your arrival. I'm glad to see you're making some progress with the case.”

“Delighted to hear it,” I replied. “I've just been talking to the Baron on the telephone, and I'm sure he'll be equally glad when I next speak to him.”

“I hope he's aware that I am fully loyal to him.” I detected a note of anxiety in Rappe's voice.

“He is,” I replied. “He praised your hard work.”

Rappe visibly relaxed. “I'm honoured.”

Hence, I suspected, his change of heart. Still, I was not too concerned about the reasons for it; the fact that it had happened would make my life a great deal easier while I was here. I gave him the description I wanted him to circulate, then went to recheck the map. I intended to spend some time in the afternoon looking at the exact locations of the murders, to see if they could tell me anything.

They did not, in fact, tell me a great deal. It might have helped if I had had some idea of which way the women were walking when they met their ends, but there was nothing about that in any of the case notes. Quite probably it had not been established. I was standing on one of the crime scenes, looking about me, when I saw a figure I recognised coming up the street. It was Willi, dressed far more sedately than she had been the previous night, and carrying a basket full of groceries.

“Hallo!” she called. “How are you doing?”

I smiled. “Hallo, Willi. Well, I've got a suspect, and now I'm trying to see what I can deduce from the places where the women were killed.”

Willi's face clouded. “Yeah. This is where Heidi Radmacher was killed. Really nice girl, she was.”

I nodded. “Do you know why she'd have been on her own at the time?”

“Well, yeah, if she was just coming back after she'd been with a client, she wouldn't have had company. It'll have been the same for everyone,” Willi replied.

“I suppose there's nothing you can really do about that,” I said, sympathetically.

She shook her head. “Nope. I mean, even if we weren't busy all the time, we couldn't really stand around outside somewhere waiting for our friend to come out.”

“I understand that,” I said. “And, honestly, it's not as if you should have to. I very much hope I can catch the killer for you.”

“Me too. And I'm so glad you're trying.” She smiled. “So, are the places where the murders were committed telling you anything?”

“Nothing but the glaringly obvious,” I replied. “Which is to say, the houses in the vicinity have high hedges at the front, so the murderer couldn't have been seen from them.”

Willi shivered. “So the murderer might have been following poor Heidi for a while, just waiting till she got to a suitable spot.”

“I'm afraid so,” I said.

“The bastard,” said Willi. “Who's your suspect?”

“I can't tell you that yet,” I replied. “I've no proof, one way or the other.”

“But one of those six names we gave you?” she persisted.

I nodded. “Yes. And, on that note, have you seen any of those six men around here lately?”

Willi shook her head decisively. “Not for ages. But if one of them had been murdering people, he wouldn't want the rest of us to see him, would he?”

“You have a fair point,” I agreed.

She looked at me speculatively. “Here. Can you fight, my lord?”

“Yes,” I replied, at once. “Put it this way. I used to be a spy. I'm pretty well trained.”

“Coo. Really? That must have been so glamorous.”

I smiled wryly. “I'm sorry to shatter your illusions, Willi, but it was very far from it. It consisted mainly of long periods of utter tedium, interspersed with shorter periods of deadly danger, and both were stressful in different ways. Why do you want to know if I can fight?”

“Well, I can fight too,” Willi explained, “and if there are two of us, we might stand a chance. What if I were to go wandering round about nine o'clock tonight, looking as if I was on my own, but with you hiding somewhere nearby?”

I frowned. “That's risky. We don't know for certain the murderer is only one person. It could be a gang of two or more acting in concert.”

She grinned. “I'll take that risk if you will. Are you up for it?”

“You know, I think that's probably an offer I can't refuse,” I said.

“Good on you,” she replied. “Now, let's go and find a location and make some plans.”

We chose a street where no murder had been committed so far, but with the same high hedges as the other locations. It was close to a moderately busy crossroads. We agreed that Willi should be at the crossroads at five minutes to nine, where I would be waiting. She would then start walking slowly along our chosen street, and I would follow discreetly, keeping out of view as far as I could.

“Of course, we may get nowhere,” I warned her. “The murderer may not be out tonight.”

“No. But if he is, he'll go for me, because I'll be the only street worker around at nine o'clock tonight,” Willi pointed out. “Now we know the times of the murders, all the other girls will either be indoors or in groups.”

“I still want to know why nine,” I mused.

“I think I know,” said Willi. “There's a police officer on the beat round here. Nine is when they change shifts.”

“Ahhh,” I said. “Thank you! So there are always a few minutes either side of nine o'clock when there's guaranteed to be no officer on patrol.”

“Yeah. I was thinking about it earlier, and then I realised. That's what it must be.”

“Someone has really thought this through,” I said. “Good job you and I can think as well as fight.”

“If I get my hands on him,” replied Willi grimly, “he'll have to think pretty bloody fast if he wants to get away with his balls in one piece.”

I winced. “That's rather a matter for the law, Willi,” I said.

“Yeah. I know. But he killed my friends.”

When I arrived back at the Excelsior, I rang Gil again to tell him what we were planning; and after dinner, I went out again and was duly stationed at the crossroads at ten minutes to nine, where I pretended to study a map of the town under a street lamp. Willi arrived punctually, waited a little while to make quite sure I had seen her, and then set off up the street we had chosen, walking calmly and unhurriedly. I folded up the map and followed her, keeping well out of sight in the shadows on the other side of the road.

There was a man approaching from the other direction. With a start, I recognised his shock of fair hair. It had to be Albers.

I drew my gun. It felt strange to be doing that again; in these more lawful times, I have not had to carry one for many years now, though I still sleep with one under my pillow in case of nocturnal intruders. I moved cautiously forwards, thankful that the lights were only on one side. The main streets had lights on both, and I would never have managed to avoid being seen.

He was now about to pass Willi. He glanced round quickly, but he clearly did not see me. He whipped something out of his pocket; a scarf, perhaps. As he lunged forward, so did I.

“Stop!” I said, in my most commanding voice.

He took one look at me, turned, and fled. Willi and I both gave chase. I used to be a fast sprinter, but age has caught up with me, and I am not quite so fast now; Willi, however, showed a highly creditable turn of speed. She caught her erstwhile assailant before he reached the end of the street and grabbed his collar, while I fired a warning shot past his ear.

“That was not intended to hit you,” I called, panting as I reached the other two. “The next one will be, if you try to escape again, Albers.”

“What?” said Willi, astonished. “This isn't Herr Albers!”

As I approached, I saw that she was right. He looked very much like Albers, but the face was the wrong shape. He glared at me.

“So,” I said, “who are you, then?”

The man was silent. I stepped forward and tugged at his hair. It was, as I had suspected, a wig; it came off to reveal dark hair underneath. He was very well made up, but I suddenly realised who he was. There was a cut on his upper lip, where he had shaved off the moustache that he normally wore.

“Rappe,” I said, flatly.

He sagged. “Shit.”

“Good disguise,” I said. “I'd have been proud of that one myself. But not if I was using it to do what you were trying to do. I'm very sorry now that I gave you that description.”

“Rappe?” asked Willi, incredulously. “What, you mean Rappe the police superintendent?”

“Yes, I'm afraid so,” I replied.

Willi stared at him. “You utter bastard,” she said.

“I'm afraid you're under arrest, Herr Rappe,” I said. “I'm taking you back to Castle Wulfenbach. Don't worry. I will insist that you get a fair trial. However, I'm quite sure the Baron wouldn't want me to leave you in charge here after this.”

“You can't prove I killed those other whores,” he said, defensively.

“You tried to kill Willi here just now,” I replied, “and that's hardly going to go in your favour, is it? Especially not since you used a garotte. What is that thing, anyway? A scarf?”

He produced it sulkily. “It's an old ascot. I wear a modern tie these days.”

“Why?” Willi demanded. “I mean, I know you don't like us much, but why kill us? We've never done you any harm.”

“Because what you do is immoral,” he snarled.

“What, more immoral than killing people?” Willi flared. “Get a bloody grip.”

“I'm completely with you on that, Willi,” I said. “You can argue about the morality of your profession till you're blue in the face, and certainly I think we all agree that nobody should ever be forced into it; but nobody is going to convince me it's more immoral than murder.”

“Anyway,” said Willi, “if you think it's so bad, why are you going for us and not our clients? Are they any better than us? Not that I'm saying you ought to be killing them either, but why be so one-sided?”

I took the ascot from him. “I'm keeping this as evidence,” I said. “Willi, could you help me escort him back to the police station? I'm going to need to get some handcuffs on him, and they'll have them.”

“Oh, God,” said Rappe. “You're going to show me up in front of all the other officers? Can't you let me wait outside? I promise I'll wait quietly.”

“Sorry, Herr Rappe,” I replied. “I'm not out to humiliate you, but I don't think I have a choice here. I can't just send Willi into the police station to get a pair of handcuffs, and I don't want to leave her to look after you.”

“I could, though,” Willi protested.

“I know you could. But if he were to get away, that would be my responsibility. You've been an enormous help, but you're not an official investigator. I've got to keep Herr Rappe either under my eye or locked up safely until I get him back to Castle Wulfenbach.”

She nodded. “OK.”

We escorted a very chastened Rappe back to the police station, where I asked for him to be put in a cell while we gave our statements and sorted out all the other necessary paperwork. This, as one might imagine, took some time, and eventually I asked if they could keep him in overnight.

“I'm sorry about that,” I said, “but I don't think we can reasonably set off at this time. I'll come and pick him up tomorrow morning after breakfast.”

Back in the street, Willi looked up at me. “Thanks,” she said. “Hey, we made a good team, didn't we?”

“We did,” I agreed. “Here. Take this. You'll have lost some income through this little business, so it's only fair.” I took out a bank note and handed it to her.

“Hey, you don't have to do that,” she said. “Not getting killed is worth losing a bit of money for.”

“I know, but... take it anyway?” I suggested.

“Well, you're very kind. Thank you.” She brightened suddenly. “I know what I'll do with it! I'll pay for some German lessons for Svetlana. You know she said she didn't really want to be doing this. If her German gets better, she'll be able to find a different job.”

“Willi,” I said, “you are a lovely young lady. I'm very honoured to have met you.”

She beamed. “Awww. And you're a lovely old lord.”

It was too late to ring Gil when I finally returned to the Excelsior, but I rang him the following morning, just before I checked out of the hotel. “I caught him,” I said. “I'm afraid it was Rappe.”

“Rappe?!”

“Yes. I'll give you the full explanation when I see you, but I'm bringing him back to the Castle for safe keeping. I did leave him in a cell at the local police station overnight, but there are all sorts of reasons why it isn't a wonderful idea to leave him there for long.”

“Well, yes,” Gil agreed. “This is a hell of a shock.”

“It was to me,” I replied. “But I assure you, he's guilty. He's pretty much admitted it.”

“And I thought he was such a good policeman,” said Gil, bitterly. “This is the sort of thing that really makes me doubt my own judgement.”

“He probably was a good policeman, until he took it into his head to start killing people he thought weren't sufficiently moral,” I replied. “It's sad. But his deputy is in charge now, and I'm just about to go and pick him up from the police station. I could take one of the Corbettite trains, unless you'd sooner send a blimp. I don't mind either way.”

“When's the train?” asked Gil.

“A quarter to eleven.”

“Might as well take that, then. Unless he refuses to confess to the Corbettites, of course.”

“That wouldn't do him any good,” I replied. “Very well, Gil. We'll take the train.”

I checked out of the Excelsior, complimented them on their comfortable room and excellent service, and walked back down to the police station. As soon as the duty sergeant caught sight of me, she looked uncomfortable.

“Good morning, sergeant,” I said. “Is something wrong?”

“Yes... you could say that, my lord,” she replied. “You'd better come and have a look.”

She led me through to a small room, its blinds still drawn against the morning sunlight. A body lay on the table, covered by a white sheet. She drew it back without a word to reveal the blotched and twisted face of Heinrich Rappe, the traces of make-up now clearly visible against the discoloration of death.

“What happened?” I asked, levelly.

“Suicide, my lord. He hanged himself with his own tie.”

“Oh, yes,” I said. “The modern ones. They're long.”

She nodded. “I suppose he didn't want to face the Baron.”

I said nothing, but bowed my head and drew the sheet back over the livid face.

“What do you want us to do, my lord?” asked the sergeant anxiously.

“Send a full report to the Baron, and close the murder case,” I replied. “He won't be killing any more street workers now. Heaven knows I didn't want it to end like this. But there's nothing I can do about it.”

“I... I had no idea he was the murderer,” said the sergeant. “I always respected him so much.”

“I expect a lot of people did,” I replied. “And the Baron thought very highly of him. I don't know what turned him to crime, and now we'll never find out.”

“Do you think he went mad, my lord?”

I sighed. “I'm not sure that word is very helpful, sergeant. I think almost everyone is a little mad, if you like to put it that way. Certainly I am. I make no bones about that. However, over the years I've learnt to integrate my dash of insanity into the rest of my character.”

“You seem very sane to me,” said the sergeant, a little shocked.

“You didn't see me when I was younger, lying awake in the small hours staring at the gun I keep under my pillow, thinking how easy it would be to end it all,” I replied, sombrely. “This man was a murderer. Despite that, I still feel sorry for him. I've been where he was last night.”

“But not because you'd killed,” said the sergeant.

“Yes, sergeant. Precisely because I had killed,” I replied. “It was, admittedly, to save my own life or those of others. I was a spy. Spies tend to be forced into that sort of situation. Nonetheless, I had killed.”

She was silent, staring at me.

“Sorry, sergeant,” I said. “I'm afraid that was all a little too much, especially on top of the shocks you've already had. I shouldn't have been so open.”

“It's... it's all right, my lord,” she said. “I didn't realise. I'm the one who should apologise.”

“Not at all,” I replied. “I think we should probably both get out of this benighted room. I am catching the train at a quarter to eleven. Is there any more you need from me first?”

“I don't think so,” she said, as we walked back to the reception area.

“Good,” I said. “Well, good luck, sergeant; I hope the new superintendent is everything you need her to be. I'm going to get a cup of coffee, then go to the station.”

I did. When I eventually boarded the train, my heart was still heavy, and I poured it out at some length to the Corbettite monk who took my confession. He could not have been over thirty, and it felt incongruous but still somehow comforting when he addressed me as “my son”. He listened intently and kindly.

“Be at peace,” he said, at last. “You did your best.”

“It wasn't good enough,” I replied.

“It was all that could be expected of you. You feel that, because you defeated suicide yourself, you had some responsibility to defeat it on Herr Rappe's behalf. You could never have done that. That is between him and God.”

I bowed my head. “Yes, Father.”

“Now, go and take your seat, and I'll see to it that you get a proper British cup of tea,” he said, conspiratorially. I had to smile, as was, no doubt, his intention.

It took most of the rest of the day to return to Castle Wulfenbach, and, once I arrived, I had to explain to Gil exactly what had happened. He shook his head. “Well,” he observed, “it does save us a trial.”

“Gil,” I said, “it hurts. It's woken too many of my old demons.”

“Oh,” he said. “Yes. I see. Sorry, Ardsley.”

“Don't mistake me,” I said. “I'm delighted that Willi and I were able to solve the case. There won't be any more murders, and I really enjoyed working with her.”

“But the suicide,” Gil replied, heavily. “Yes.”

“I shouldn't be letting it get to me so much,” I said. “I thought I was over all that.”

“You can't help it if you're not,” replied Gil.

“I feel I should, though.”

“There aren't any 'shoulds' when it comes to healing, Ardsley. Don't be so rough on yourself.”

I sighed. “No, I suppose not. You're right. After all, I don't expect my shoulder to heal up just because I want it to.”

“Your shoulder?” asked Gil.

“Oh, it still twinges occasionally. You recall the first time I met Captain DuPree?”

“Sweet lightning,” said Gil. “It's still giving you trouble after all this time?”

“Well, just now and again, and it's not very severe,” I replied. “But she did tear one of my ligaments, if you remember.”

“Yes, I do. She was a menace, that woman.”

“Well,” I said, “I suppose I've also got a torn ligament in my brain, metaphorically speaking. I should go and rest it, I think. Read an amusing novel or something. Cuddle with Lucilla.”

“You do that,” said Gil. “And anything else that will help. And if there's anything I can do for you, just let me know. That's a standing offer, just so you're aware. You've done me a huge favour, and I'm grateful. I most certainly didn't mean you to get hurt in the process.”

“Thank you, Gil,” I said.

“Oh, and... that Willi you mentioned,” he added, as I got up to leave. “You said she liked being a... a street worker, didn't you?”

“That's right,” I replied. “It's Svetlana who isn't keen. But if Willi makes good on her promise to get her some German lessons, she should be able to move on soon.”

“Do you think there might be anything she'd like doing even better?” asked Gil. “Such as, for instance, training as an intelligence agent?”

“I don't know,” I replied. “I can't speak for her. You'd have to ask her.”

“Only she sounds good. She's clearly bright and she's got initiative, and she's not afraid to go into a potentially dangerous situation.”

“I don't know what she'll say,” I said. “But even if she says no, I think she'll take it as a great compliment to be asked.”

“Then I shall go and compliment her at the first opportunity,” Gil promised.

And, somehow, as I left Castle Wulfenbach, I found myself feeling a little better.


End file.
